


A Cardboard Box

by GanNatsuki



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Adrien is young, Aged Up, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Angst, Cardboard Box, Don't worry! It's tagged!, F/M, Friends to Best Friends, Hurt/Comfort, Marinette just broke up with her first love :(, Memes, Other, Panic Attacks, Silly Jokes that help lighten up the Angst™, Slow Burn, Tags will be updated each chapter, Talking About Relationships, from strangers to friends, it's the author's intention to make sure every character in this work is a flavour of gay, latex mention, mentioned couch surfing and prostitution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2019-08-09 22:56:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16458611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GanNatsuki/pseuds/GanNatsuki
Summary: "I'm in a bit of a pickle, and I need some friends.""Oh god, is Chloe--""No!" Marinette shouts at the mention, startling herself and likely Alya as well. Wounds are still fresh and raw, after all. "No," she says, trying to calm herself down. "I found someone in an alley while I was waiting for the rain to calm down. They're responsive and since the strike's still going on, I thought it'd be better to take them to a place where they can rest.”Where Marinette is dumped for New York, takes a shortcut in the rain, and finds a boy in a cardboard box.





	1. wet boxes may contain heavy boys

**Author's Note:**

> This gimmick is loosely based off of the manga series "Tramps Like Us". It's a little outdated for my tastes but I really loved it when I was younger.
> 
> Shoutout to [ichaquisitor and azarkiem on tumblr](http://ichaquisitor.tumblr.com/post/179465051026/hiya-icha-i-was-wondering-im-writing-a-fanfic) for info on wallets!

Today is a bad day. Marinette admits that this day has not been the greatest for her, and this pelting rain was the icing on top. The office where she works was brimming with passive aggressive tension which Marinette did not have the patience for. She suffered in silence as her eyes were glued to the big antique clock, praying for the clock hands to move faster. But that was just a prelude to one of the most unpleasant evenings of her life. Just before her escapade with the rain, she had a tense dinner with her now ex-girlfriend Chloe, who broke up with her right after revealing she was moving to New York. 

To put it mildly, Marinette basically lost it and excused herself to the washroom before coming back and trying to talk Chloe out of leaving her. She asked, she pleaded. She tried to figure out why Chloe was leaving her with the ringing in her ears becoming louder and louder. Marinette barely touched her food while Chloe neatly ate her tataki, as she always did. At the end of it all, Marinette wanted to know why. Why is it that you, Chloe Bourgeois, want to break up with me?

“It’s because I never feel like I’m enough for you.”

The ringing had plummeted into silence. Marinette couldn’t understand. Never enough? She texted a love letter every week, walked her home on dates, even invited to move in with her. For three years there has been nothing but perseverance, fighting for being the better person for Chloe, dealing with Chloe’s negative and entitled spells, celebrating each and every time she pulls through because although she is self-deprecating, all Marinette can see is the opposite of the downward spiral Chloe despairs to be a part of. Every time she sees Chloe smiles gives her such fulfilment, such emotion! Marinette could wax and wane poetry about the excitement Chloe brought into her life, the moments of triumph that she inspired, and the overflowing dedication she ignited in Marinette’s soul— what did she mean that she never felt enough?

“I’m tired of going above and beyond for you, Marinette. I’m done.”

The ringing returned. The few bites of sushi she had tasted bland and dry despite the fancy restaurant she was in. The two sat in silence for a while until Marinette called for a check. Chloe quietly mentioned she already paid when Marinette excused herself to the washroom. Marinette’s ego riled up in indignant anger, hurt from the break up and embarrassed from something simple as a check. Marinette stiffly thanked Chloe for the meal, and swiftly exited the restaurant with nothing but an early fall coat before the rain came to join Marinette in her misery.

Their relationship had a rough start, what with Chloe being her sworn enemy throughout lycée, but things came to a confusing climax when they both got drunk for the first time and kissed in their last year. They danced around it until their second year of university. She then told her, the things that Chloe loved Marinette for, her confidence, her amicable nature, and her dazzling optimism. Marinette never knew that her heart was capable of soaring that far and that fast. The night Chloe broke up with her was the night Marinette wanted to propose to her. She’d been planning for weeks to getting the proper size, the walk that she planned to take Chloe, where she would take her to see the beautiful nightlights of Paris before going down on one knee.Thinking about it left a special broken feeling that Marinette never had before.

“I never feel like I’m enough for you.”

These words repeat over and over again with Chloe’s watery voice, and refuses to stop no matter how Marinette tries to distract herself. Marinette wanted to spend her life with Chloe. She knew there were some things she would never change about Chloe, but every day felt like an adventure with her. Where Marinette lacked in confidence, Chloe would be sure. Where Marinette knew she couldn’t do it alone, Chloe was right there as if she was a pillar of support with just her presence. Marinette thought she was enough. She knew Chloe was enough. Marinette loved her with her whole heart and soul, and Chloe didn’t think she was good enough.

The heavy rain perfectly compliments the rain in her heart. It was as if pathetic fallacy were taking inspiration from her aching soul, and found it enlightening. Of course Marinette has an umbrella, but it does little to protect her. The rain is too strong and wets her pantaloons despite her best efforts. Without much of a choice, Marinette runs into a narrow alley to shield herself, where her umbrella presses against both brick lain walls as she waits for the rain to stop. She looks to the back of the alley, pleased to find that it doesn’t lead to a dead end but rather another street. Looking around more than a few times in case of an attack, Marinette looks for two ways of easy exit in case someone with ill intentions finds her. There is a huge cardboard box in the middle, and Marinette walks over to look at it. With her ability, she’ll be able to jump over it if she needs to.

The rain is calming down. It’s reducing itself from drenching to simply pouring. She briefly wonders if Paris’ sewer systems will be able to handle this amount of water in such a short period of time. It still isn’t a good idea to walk out, but at the very least it isn’t hard to keep the umbrella up anymore.

Marinette checks her phone. It’s been half an hour since she’s left dinner, and Chloe’s texted her if she should pick her up because of the heavy rain. Marinette grimaces and types “no need! i’m already home :)” because nothing would be worse than being picked up by Chloe and her chauffeur now. She’d take the dogs and cats over the deafening silence any day.

She looks again at the huge cardboard box behind her. Well, the rain doesn’t seem to be letting up soon, and her legs feel very tired from a long day. The cardboard is mostly dry, so she hesitantly sits on it. It seems like it can hold her weight, so she brings her legs u— 

_squish_  

Oh my god. Alarm floods her mind as she quickly stands up in haste and hastily checks her clothes to see if the box left any stains on her. The box seems squished, but it definitely looks like whatever was in it held together the box’s integrity. Gingerly pushing aside the flaps, she looks inside to check what in the world could be in the box. It’s hard to see clearly to determine what really is in there. Marinette squats down and squints very hard as she carefully puts a hand in to feel out its insides. 

Surprisingly, the contents are dry, and cold to the touch. There’s a very concerning pile of hair that she’s touching, along with a feel of skin that frighteningly resembles human. Marinette’s shock seeps in as she realizes that this was a cardboard box containing a body. A human body. Marinette is dazed while her two instincts battle and fight one another. One says to run as far and as from this alley as possible, yet her other instinct is to check if the body is alive.

She only mulls over this conflict for half a second, adrenaline from shock pumping through her veins as her thoughts are sharpened. Her heroic complex kick in, the goodness of her heart, "her eager to please nonsense" as Chloe calls it-- as Chloe called it.

The reminder of dinner echoed a pang of betrayal over the raw wound it left the first time. It echoed just enough to melt this iced heart into a bleeding one. 

Scientifically speaking, when a human is going through break-up, the brain's activity matches the activity of when it is going through drug withdrawal [(Earp et al., 2017)](https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC5378292/). Behaviour in this context may include one or more of the following: compulsive calling, irritability, suppression of the immune system, sensation seeking, and "deficits in time estimation inhibition, cognitive flexibility and planning" [(Frascella et al., 2010)](https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3671907/). Marinette briefly wonders if she is exhibiting anything like that.

Every fibre of her existence is reeling, trying to run away from what might be a dead body. It’s filthy, with dirt and grime caking over its clothes. When she’s ever helping somebody, the bottom denominator was that it was usually alive. If the person is dead… Marinette supposes her next step would be to call the police.

Perhaps it was the abhorrent drudgery of doing the daily grind, or the general dissatisfaction with her life. Perhaps it was the fact that Marinette wasn't romantically involved with someone until the age of 20, or that she was still recovering from the fact that Chloe had dumped her for the absurdity of the idea that she was overwhelmingly headstrong in her morals and that intimidated her so much to the point of thinking that separation, by god, separation would be better than staying with Marinette because Chloe didn't feel like she was enough for her.

Marinette is overwhelmed, and the overwhelming is dizzying. She curses as she tries to remember what exactly do you do to check if a body is living or not. Come on Marinette, think! A pulse would usually be the first thing, but for some reason Marinette’s hesitant to touch the body. Was she always like this around people and that was also part of the reason why Chloe doesn't want to be with her anymore? God, why the hell is she thinking of Chloe and her capacity as a lover when she's in front of a probably dead man?!

She tries not to panic and breathes in and out, counting the seconds each inhale and exhale takes. It’s all right. It’s a person, who has friends, parents, and likely a very tragic reason why they’re out here. They’re human. She taps into her human compassion and lets it flow into her, over her wounds and over her palpitating heart. Marinette open the eyes she didn't even know were closed. 

Slowly, hesitantly, with as much bravery she can muster, she puts her hand on the artery of the neck. She presses gingerly, and is surprised that the body is still quite warm, and decides to press a little more firmly. A steady pulse responds relief takes over her mind. This person is alive.

She profusely thanks every deity she can think of while she checks her phone. Her hands are shaking. The rain is letting up, but there is no signal to be found. She knows her apartment is only a block away, and that she is fit enough to carry a human for that long. If in the case that this person turns violent, she’s gone to plenty of self defence classes that she feels powerful enough to handle someone a lot bigger and more powerful than her.

Marinette’s smart. She’ll do something if she can, if her personal safety won’t be at risk. She knows that there are some very hurt and broken people out there that are willing to sacrifice their humanity just to share a bit of their pain. She knows that. And when she looks at this person, shivering in the cold and passed out, with business hours over and no signal, she feels strong enough to be able to take on the risk for this one person. This week is probably the worst week to find a person in peril due to the hospital strike. Most doctor offices are likely closed, since it's eight o'clock in the evening. There's no point in calling for aid.

She loudly talks to the person, likely a man (she’d been hoping for a woman), and patiently checks to see if he’s capable of responding. He’s groaning and is awfully pale, quietly responding.

“Please, talk quieter…” he says.

“Are you hurt anywhere? Why are you in an alleyway?” Marinette notes that he isn’t completely unconscious and is likely in pain.

“Just… thirsty… no place to go.”

“Drink as slow as you can, it will be better for your body later. Why don’t you have a place to go? Where’s your family?” Marinette takes out the water bottle out of her purse and gives it to the man. He greedily puts it to his lips before Marinette holds his hands to slow his sips, directing his movements firmly as he eagerly drinks. Once he finishes the bottle, he wipes his mouth and hands over the now empty bottle. 

“… I don’t have a family. My place is gone.” Marinette’s heart aches at this.

He doesn’t seem to be in any immediate pain, nor is he having trouble talking with her. He looks young, like in his mid twenties. In the back of her mind, she's mildly disappointed. The ideal victim she were to be helping would be a darling older woman, in her late sixties, who recently retired from her executive director position of an incredible charity organization. Marinette wouldn't want any compensation, not even a job offer for being an French ambassador for her internationally acclaimed charity that saves orphans from ligma.

After entertaining that little fantasy, she asks him if he’s hit anything recently and if he’s capable of walking. The man weakly smiles before admitting that no, he hasn’t been injured at all but he feels like he can barely stand. Marinette smiles at him gently and hauls him up on her back to piggyback him. She’s surprised at how heavy he is. The fact that he was so difficult to carry made Marinette put in a side note to lift heavier next time she hits the gym. She barely (ashamedly) makes it to the end of the alley before putting him down as gently as she can. The mental stress of work and the break up probably sapped her energy.

She absentmindedly takes off her heavy scarf and coat, wrapping them around the currently shivering man. He clearly was in need of food and a warm place to sleep tonight, and Marinette, the ever bleeding heart would happily accommodate a young boy. God, that sounds wrong, doesn’t it? She meant that purely out of compassion. However, it did help that the person she was helping out of compassion was conventionally attractive.

Groaning, the burnt out Marinette asks herself if avoiding Chloe is worth the strain, and concluding that seeing her again is probably the worst thing she could do right now. Taking a moment to think, Marinette's mentally going through her friends list to look for anyone she can ask for a favour. Thankfully when she realizes she can call someone, her phone has already picked up a bar of signal and Marinette swiftly dials her good friend good friend.

“Hello, Marinette?”

“Hi Alya! I have an issue that I need your help with. Is Nino with you?”

Alya sounds muffled for a moment, but Marinette's patient.

"I had to check the time-- he was up late last night remastering some audio," Alya laughs. Marinette smiles at the gesture, it was nice to hear that they were still on such amicable terms. There had been some tension between the two soon after their high school break up, but Marinette supposes that since the two clicked together so well that they had to be better now. "What do you need?" 

"I'm in a bit of a pickle, and I need some friends."

"Oh god, is Chloe--"

"No!" Marinette shouts at the mention, startling herself and likely Alya as well. Wounds are still fresh and raw, after all. "No," she says, trying to calm herself down. "I found someone in an alley while I was waiting for the rain to calm down. They're responsive and since the strike's still going on, I thought it'd be better to take them to a place where they can rest.”

There's a pause as Marinette waits for Alya's response. There's some clinking of keys, and Marinette's heart dives for relief.

"I'll be there. Send me your location, and Nino and I will get there as soon as we can."

Marinette will kiss Alya when given the blessed chance. "Thank you," she says. "Thank you, thank you, thank you." With that, Alya hangs up and Marinette immediately sends Alya her location. It's easy to get to, since Alya's familiar to the neighbourhood of her apartment.

While she waits for Alya, she takes a look again at the man, checking for injuries. He couldn't be older than 25. What Marinette wants to know is why a young, frankly handsome young man would be on the streets and dirty. Not only is he out of place, but his clothes are well made, untattered, and frighteningly in season. 

Marinette's familiar with the homeless, especially after visiting Chloe's mother in New York. Paris has noticeably less, but they still shared similarities. They often clustered in groups and were potentially violent. There were homeless shelters available around Paris, but more often than not those shelters are at full capacity and people are often solicited for a week's worth of stay (15 euros). Why was he in a cardboard box?

She furrows a brow as she ponders this. “What’s your name, boy?”

“Adri—Adrien Agreste,” the boy looks a little dazed, slow to respond. Likely hasn’t been addressed like this before, or is sorely in need of some nutrition.

Marinette nods, and leans down to check his pockets to see if he has any weapons on him. The boy cringes as she leans down, and she notes that in the back of her head. He doesn’t pose as much of a threat. If he regains his strength from the hydration, he won’t be able to pull any fast moves on her without her knowing.

“I’m going to pat you down. I just need to check if you’re carrying anything dangerous.” Adrien looks very uncomfortable, but complies. She mutters a quiet apology before being very careful to pat him down in the least suggestive way she can think of. She may as well check his inside pockets for anything slim she could have missed. Something is placed in his back pocket, which she quietly excuses herself to reach and take it. It’s a wallet, and Marinette wants to open it. She looks at him, about to ask permission to inspect his wallet and he looks away, defeated, which bothers her. This boy is strangely submissive. The French are usually more… defiant. Inside the wallet holds two twenty euro notes, some business cards, and aha! A Pass Navigo. She notes that he isn't a run away since he has a driver’s license, and means he isn’t a minor. She doesn’t bother looking at the Navigo, and focuses on the license. It was issued three months after his eighteenth birthday.

Marinette notes with pity that French driver’s licenses don’t display their addresses, as then she can later figure out where she can return him, or where not to return him. Without a doubt Adrien was running away from something and since he isn’t staying at his residence, it may be that he refuses to go back home. This was definitely one of the more likely options, given the expensive clothes and very poor choice of location.

She reads the license again. Adrien Agreste. She counts back from the date written on the card which isn't hard, because he's twenty years old, which is /young/. She notes he isn't much older than a teenager and reinstates runaway into her plausible explanations. She looks through some business cards to find out they're all from bigger fashion agencies. He might be a model, which makes a lot of sense. Low income, young and beautiful, and a little dull.

Marinette hears the sound of rubber on wet asphalt and turns her head. Judging from the front of the car, she knows it's Alya. Waving the car over, she talks the moment Alya is out and within hearing distance.

“Alya! Twenty year old, likely run away, ill equipped for the outdoors,” she says. “I need help, he can’t move very well.”

Alya gives a thumbs up and opens the door. She then runs over to spot the two as Marinette basically carries Adrien to the car. Marinette nearly drops him half way there, though.

Alya returns to shotgun and Marinette walks over to the other back seat, noting that Adrien has already buckled in. She gives a thumbs up to the driver and the car engine starts. It putters into a quiet purr, and Nino checks for traffic before turning onto the road again.

“Thank you for picking me up,” Marinette is so relieved. “I’m four blocks away from my apartment and I haven’t been in top shape this year.”

Nino gives a hearty laugh. “The driver is the greatest burden of them all,” he says tongue-in-cheek. “You don't even have to worry-- I'm supes excite! This is the biggest kitten you’ve picked up yet!”

Marinette blushes. “I’ve only saved a handful,” she says. “Besides, I couldn’t leave a small child there, shivering in the rain.”

“Hey.” The protest is quiet, but is definitely heard.

The car erupts into giggles.


	2. Wait, what?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh my god. Ohhhhhh my god. Marinette, that’s the dumbest thing you could ever say, and I’m including the time where you decided that you could squeeze five different courses of first aid training with your five courses of uni. What was it? _Oh, I’ll be fine, Alya! It’s totally doable!_ And then what happens two weeks later? A mental breakdown! This though? This is stupid squared.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kind comments! I really appreciated them. Since I'm referencing thoughts and safety precautions of sex, I've upped the rating to a T. I'll be giving a warning if things ever get... spicy. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

It doesn’t take long for the three of them (four of them?) to reach Marinette’s apartment. Marinette and Alya spot Adrien as Nino leads him over to Marinette’s door. Marinette swiftly takes her keys out of her purse and lets Adrien enter first. Marinette's place is a very small, parisien apartment with an open concept, because if the estate were to divide itself into two rooms sans the washroom, it may very well do better advertising itself as an instigator for claustrophobia.

Within the only room fits a kitchenette, three shelves, a little dining table, a three person couch with a glass coffee table, and a double bed. Granted the room was sizeable to fit all of that, however that was it. There wasn’t anything else, not enough space to properly entertain guests or throw a party for more than four people. Occasionally Chloe would have come over, side eye the tiny place, and then promptly ask whether Marinette was going to help her unpack for the night or if she’d prefer to join her for a shower. Marinette love that little suggestion, and even after years of being together, a shiver of anticipation would run through her like an electric shock. Marinette would always eagerly unpack and then coyly invite Chloe to shower, eagerly undoing her ponytail for her and familiarizing with whatever Chloe was wearing so she could deftly take it off. It always riled Chloe up when she did…

Marinette brutally kicks her heartbroken self to the present with a sigh, earning a strange look from Nino. She toes off her shoes, starting with her left flat and shucks the obtuse prison of her foot onto the shoe rack. The right flat follows quickly after. She’s still cold from the autumn rain and shivers to warm herself up, eternally grateful for the central heating provided. Her studio apartment was humble for sure, but it made up for it with incredibly functional amenities. Heat, hydro, water, gas, and internet were all wonderfully reliable. Not once has the water been contaminated, nor has the internet needed to be restarted. Her apartment was one of the stable blessings of her life.

Once everyone is piled into the apartment, Marinette switches on the lights, notes both that the dishwasher is near the end of its drying phase, and of the smell of melting cheese and pears wafting into the room. When Alya asks what that gorgeous smell is coming from…

“Oh, there’s a quiche cooling in the oven,” Marinette mentions offhandedly as she gestures to her sofa, offering Nino and Alya seats. The three of them silently made eye contact and were reminded that it would be unsafe to simply leave Marinette with this strange boy, especially since he was picked up off the streets and was essentially an anomaly. Marinette briefly thinks back to the one dinner she had with them where that night the limit of three glasses of wine was overridden. Hilariously enough, Nino had accurately alluded that she might bring home something bigger than a litter of kittens, and with too much wine in her system, she surprisingly articulated a half decent plan in case of emergency and she actually picked up a stray human from the streets.

Marinette herself is proud of the fact that she has enough to serve three relatively hungry people. It was based on pure luck, but she felt like a proper adult. She had some pie dough left in the freezer and looked at whatever was in her fridge yesterday evening. Thankfully there were the typical milk, eggs, and cheese in her refridgerator, so Marinette had the bright idea to glaze some pears and call it a night. On top of that, she had recently gotten over a cold and had frozen chicken soup stuck in her freezer, which coincidentally is a fantastic compliment to her quiche, even if it isn’t the traditional Lorraine Quiche.

She hears the hungry gurgles of her friend’s stomach and giggles, letting Alya know that she’ll be prioritizing the wellbeing of her newfound kitten before anything else. Alya pouts for show.

Marinette looks at Adrien with a discerning eye while the other two get comfortable on the couch, waving while they say “let us know if you need anything,” and proceed to continue watching the YouTube video they were enjoying before Nino turned into Marinette’s personal chauffeur. Adrien seems to be looking around in caution, polite and hesitant.

Marinette sits down at her little kitchen table and gestures for him to take the other seat. He seems to have warmed up, and may even be sweating with the extra coat and scarf. Marinette sits as casually as possible, trying to emulate friendly and inviting vibes. She rests her left elbow on the table and puts all of her upper weight on that point of impact, her face settling into a lazy smile.

"You can take the coats off, you know," she says. Adrien sheds them so quickly that Marinette snorts. Adrien's incredibly striking green eyes glance at hers before he sets down his layers on the back of the kitchen chair. He sheepishly smiles at Marinette, and it throws her off guard. He does it beautifully, perfectly. It dazzles her. Most of the people she sees are grumpy more often than not, since all she saw were coworkers and Chloe. The youngest crowd there consists of her and some very normal looking people in their early thirties. This Adrien boy looks like a skinny Statue of David, with an incredibly familiar looking yet exotic face. Marinette is suddenly reminded of Hollywood actors and supermodels and that suddenly takes her back to her dreams of fashion design that she haven’t yet reached.

Marinette blinks, surprised at how off track her mind can become. She marvels at how her thoughts are indeed all over the place tonight and violently reverts her interest back to the issue at hand. Adrien sits tall and proper, but his demeanour is demure. Nothing about him seems like he's ready to talk, so she stands up and begins to putter around in the kitchen.

"Do you know yourself around a kitchen, boy?" she asks, pulling some frozen chicken noodle soup out of the freezer. She takes out a pot and places it on the gas stove, the ignites the fire and sets the gas on max.

"... uh," is the eloquent reply.

"Great," she says, turning away. "I want you to take the quiche out of the oven and cut it into eight pieces. Take out four plates, bowls, forks, and spoons. You're going to serve the quiche to Alya and Nino over there."

Adrien quickly stands up from his chair and begins to fumble his way over to the kitchen. Marinette side steps while he takes the dismal looking (she didn't have time to make it pretty) quiche and sets it on the table. She watches him in her peripheral, melting the frozen chicken soup and finding amusement in how he eagerly looks into every cupboard, shelf, and drawer to find what he's looking for. When he begins to reach to the top shelf, it both vexes Marinette at how easily he reach up there and gives her an accurate understanding at how ridiculously tall he is.

"Stop,” she says. Adrien freezes, looking like a deer in headlights. This tall kid is hilarious. "That's the china I use for dinner guests. Anything other than those."

"But there aren't any other dishes in the cupboards!" Marinette jumps at how loudly he can speak. He doesn’t seem so demure anymore.

Marinette sends him a bewildered look, and silently points to the dishwasher with her toe. Adrien looks down and pauses. He cocks his head before he begins to press the buttons on the machine: pans and pots, dry cycle, spin cycle--

"What are you doing?" Marinette's voice can't hide her incredulous tone as she essentially gawks at this human being who has walked this earth for a little over twenty years. He's still turned to the dishwasher, eyebrows furrowed as he fiddles with the knob. Does he... Does he know…

"How do you open this?"

_Incroyable._ For some reason, Marinette now understands why someone left him in a box.

"Here, there's an upside down button underneath the handle that you push," Marinette says as she guides Adrien's hand to said button. Adrien startles as she pushes the button and the front of the dishwasher falls just a little, and he carefully, tentatively, timidly lowers it to the ground. Before him holds a plethora of dishes, cutlery, and utensils beyond his wildest dreams. Marinette would like to note that said wildest dreams would consist of three sporks and a singular plate since he clearly has never seen a dishwasher before. The amount of awe on Adrien’s face is disappointing, and though the event of popping Adrien’s dishwasher virginity today is tremendously tragic, it is still very funny.

The soup is defrosted for the most part, and Marinette waits for it to boil. She cuts the remaining half of a baguette she bought this morning into small, soup ready pieces while Adrien doesn’t cut his fingers as he slices the quiche. The fact that he is using a sharpened carving knife instead of a normal pie server is both beyond Marinette and as expected since his every action since stepping into the kitchen has been screaming clueless and privileged.

Adrien sets four crumbly and less than presentable slices onto plates, discouraged from the results. So far, Marinette happily notes that her predictions were right for the most part— cute, but useless.

The soup is boiling. Marinette ladles the soup into bowls and counts the blessing that her family could aid her in developing her own independence. She whips out a fancy serving tray whenever she’d bring breakfast to bed (don’t you dare think about Chloe again, Marinette), and tells Adrien to serve the two. It is with great effort and a leap of faith that Adrien succeeds, with him incredibly proud of himself that he did something well without any help.

Adrien’s stomach growls as he sits back down to the table. Shyly looking up at Marinette, she nods and Adrien straightens his shoulders before gobbling up his food.. Or, at least she thought he was going to do that. He’s eating far more politely than she’d expect from a boy likely starving from a day’s lack of food. Then again, he _is_ a model. Marinette digs in with more gusto. She could barely get anything down earlier this evening, so she’s eager to eat some food she actually made. The quiche is delicious, with flavours of salty and sweet dancing on her palate. It’s all wonderfully washed away with the clean broth of chicken noodle soup.

“Marinette!!! This is divine! Sent from Son of God himself! If I knew that was what you would reward me with if I drove you tonight, I would have been there the moment you even thought about calling me!” Nino is incredibly enthusiastic.

“Let me guess, stale falafel and pizza?” Marinette tries to hide her smirk with a napkin. Alya cuts in before Nino can protest.

“He’s been drinking an awful cocktail of American energy drinks too,” Alya says as she shakes her head. It’s a moment of shame for Nino. He holds his hands over his heart as if a train promptly attacked it.

“… Is he even French?” Adrien asks, and he says it so innocently that the two girls’ immediate reaction is roars of unabashed, tear inducing, belly laughter.

“This is it, my friends,” Nino says resigned, most likely felt for his trampled ego. “The accurate representation of my tragic lifestyle has compelled me to let you know: it is with great reluctance that I must announce my sudden retirement. It has been fantastic to have been with you through this long journey. Marinette, I will never forget the delicious food you have cooked for me over the years and was my only real connection to French food. Alya, you were the only woman I’ve ever truly loved. Marinetteyou’recooltoo. It is with utmost regret that I must leave.” Nino turns to the door, and both Marinette and Alya have latched onto him in a tight hug at an incredible speed that Adrien blinks his eyes to make sure they’re working.

“Nooo! Nino, you are so dear to our hearts! Please, don’t go! Also your flair for the dramatic makes you more French than all of us combined!”

“Nino, I need you to understand that I am platonically obligated to beg you to stay, but my real motivation is that there is no one else who can drive a car as well as you can. Also, you are the only man I’ve ever loved, and that’s sad since we’re 25 and broke up in lycée.”

“Oh my god, can we please not talk about relationships right now? My heart’s already broken as it is,” Marinette says, sighing.

“What happened with Chloe this time? Remind you she loves sushi more than you?” Nino asks with a teasing smile on his face.

“She’s leaving for New York… and broke up with me.” Immediately the duo curse in exclamation.

“When did this happen? What happened? Are you okay?” Alya is immediately at Marinette’s side, rubbing her back to give her some sort of comfort. Marinette sends her an appreciative smile, but her body’s too numb to really feel it.

“I’m fine, I’m fine… just, not in front of someone I don’t know, okay?”

They all turn to Adrien, who was quietly munching beside the sofa, unable to put in a word this entire time. He’s been watching the forgotten YouTube video while the three talk, and looks back, suddenly feeling eyes on him. He smiles warily.

“Are people really out there making human sized mouse traps?”

“Heck yeah they are!” Nino swiftly plops on the couch and pats the seat next to him, clearly a welcome for Adrien to sit beside him. “Let me tell you all about the inception of this brilliant YouTube channel… you know some English?”

“ _Not much_ ,” Adrien replies in English as he glances over to Marinette before sitting down. Nino talks animately about how his friend Max sent him a couple of videos and his favourite highlights of the channel, while Adrien seems very interested.

Marinette sighs and sits down at her kitchen table, slumped over. Alya joins her and gestures for Marinette’s hands. Alya joins their hands together and gives a heartfelt squeeze, watching Marinette with a critical eye.

“When did she break up with you?” Alya says. Her voice is quiet.

Marinette checks her watch and her face contorts, “Four hours ago. I didn’t even realize time flew by so fast.” She forces a laugh and it sounds hollow. “I asked her why. Apparently I make her feel like she’s never good enough.”

“What? From the way the two of you act around us, it seemed like _you_ weren’t good enough for _her._ ”

“That’s what I thought too… she said she’s tired of going “above and beyond” for me. Whatever that means.”

“You know I never really approved of her, but you were so in love with Chloe that I didn’t have the heart to truly try to get you to break up with her.” Marinette feels her eyes burn, and a couple of tears escape before she closes them. Alya places her hand on Marinette’s shoulder. “Cry. Grieve for your relationship. You tried you damndest to make her feel like the queen of the world and she dumped you for it.”

“N-not,” Marinette hiccups, her whispers barely leaving her lips. “Not now. Not here.”

“Then where, Marinette? You know you want to cry.”

“I-I… I don’t have the time. I’m already tired. This week’s been a bad week, since next week is this season’s publishing date.”

Alya is silent. The boys are quietly talking and exclaiming with glee at the newfound way of cooking an egg with the least amount of efficiency possible. Marinette smiles at the two bonding. Adrien’s a good guy.

“I think I’m going to wait until publishing. Then I’ll cry…”

“I don’t like that idea, Marinette. You’ll be alone, since both me and Nino are flying to Berlin tomorrow and staying there for three weeks.”

“I know… but I could have some company?”

“What?”

Marinette points at the two boys jumping in their seats, quietly laughing at boy stuff.

“Oh my god. Ohhhhhh my god. Marinette, that’s the dumbest thing you could ever say, and I’m including the time where you decided that you could squeeze five different courses of first aid training with your five courses of uni. What was it? _Oh, I’ll be fine, Alya! It’s totally doable!_ And then what happens two weeks later? A mental breakdown! This though? This is stupid squared.”

“This is different! It’s just some kid! He’ll sleep on the couch until I figure out what to do with him. He seems like a good kid and talking to someone will literally keep my mood up! Three weeks isn’t so bad!”

“What if he steals from you, Marinette? What if he assaults you?”

“I… I can photocopy his driver’s license! We’ll be able to track him down! Also what the heck, Alya? He’s such a sweet boy! He doesn’t even sit unless someone asks him to!”

“Are… you talking about me?” Marinette and Alya turn to Adrien standing with Nino staring from the couch. Marinette supposes they likely were talking too loud.

“Wh—“ Marinette cuts Alya right off and goes in straight for the kill.

“Adrien, do you have a place to stay?” Marinette’s stare could bore a hole into the wall. Adrien shakes his head. “Would you like to stay here?” Adrien timidly nods his head. Marinette turns her body back to Alya.

“See? He’s on board.”

“ _You_ _picked him off the streets!”_ Alya hisses.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to take advantage of him. He just turned _twenty._ He practically has a pacifier still in his mouth.” Adrien makes a noise of protest.

“ _This is unorthodox!_ ”

“You’re now bringing your English values into this? I thought we were shaming my lack of nationalism a quiche ago,” Nino pipes up, but shrinks at the scathing glare Alya sends him.

“You are not helping, Nino! Why are you for this anyway?!”

“A pet project helped me mend my broken heart,” Nino shrugs. “Maybe it’ll mend Marinette’s.”

Alya huffs. “A person can’t be a pet project.”

“But I can be a pet!”

All heads, shoulders, knees, and toes point to Adrien. What.

“What.”

“What.”

“What.”

Did he say what he just said. Did he? Did he actually? How? Why? What?

“I’ve done this before?” Adrien offers, almost like he’s used to this gaping.

Alya stutters and all of her thoughts come to a halt. Marinette and Nino are speechless, but Marinette’s the quickest to recover.

“You’ve been a pet before,” she says it like a statement, as if she can’t believe the words that are coming out of her mouth right now.

Adrien nods.

“For how long?” Alya croaks out.

“On and off, for about two years.”

“Any of your owners hot?” Alya and Marinette sputter, one of them screeching at Nino to _please stop talking._

“Yes,” Adrien says. He doesn’t offer anything else, other than a mysterious model-like smile. “I prefer to not talk about it.”

“You— you’re— I’m sincerely baffled,” Marinette says.

Adrien sends Marinette an apologetic look, carefully walking over to her side.

“I understand this kind of thing isn’t… common. At the very least, I could never put it on my CV,” Adrien joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Alya can only blubber. Nino put his hand on her shoulder in solidarity.

“Why?” Marinette asks.

“It’s what I can do,” he says, flippant. There’s a wall up, somehow. A wall that’s hiding something he doesn’t want others to see. “Look, I can leave if this is making you all uncomfortable—“

“What are the usual rules?” Marinette is in a fever dream. That’s the only way she can comprehend this. She can still only barely comprehend this.

Adrien starts playing with the rings on his fingers. “Give me a bed, food, and a person to welcome back home, and I’ll return your kindness with my eager company. Oh, and I need to know if you’re allergic to latex.”

Marinette quirks a brow, confused. She blinks, trying to figure out what that last sentence meant since her last experience with latex was with the latex gloves the dentist used. Latex gloves other uses include… oh. Oh. Ohhhhhhhhh. Marinette pinches the bridge of her nose and swears up down left right under her breath. She resists the urge to cross herself so that the sinful suggestion of approaching someone so very vulnerable with that kind of intention would be vanquished from her mind. She does it anyway. It doesn’t help, since she isn’t catholic.

“I’m going to ignore that last bit. I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.” Adrien opens his mouth, but Marinette silences him. “I found you in a cardboard box. You’ll finally be able to sleep in a real bed tonight. Just… take a shower before you go to sleep.”

Nino looks at the clock and glances at Alya. “Our flight’s around noon, and we haven’t completely yet. I think it’s time to leave, Alya.”

Alya massages her temples before she nods. The two offer a quick hug to Marinette and begin to get ready to leave. Alya demands Marinette to give her weekly updates over any method of communication. Marinette smiles and concedes, shutting the door after saying their final goodbyes. She locks eyes with Adrien and smiles.

“Hop in the shower if you’d like. I’ll grab a change of clothes for you—“ she steps over to one of her shelves, and pulls out a pair of black pyjamas and a black t-shirt. This will work. “I’ll give you money to buy some underwear tomorrow. Otherwise, I’m going to sleep. It’s eleven o’clock.”

“Are you sure about giving me your bed, Marinette?” The sound of her name on Adrien’s tongue surprises her. “I… don’t want to be any trouble.”

Marinette gives an exasperated smile. “Child, if you keep asking this, you’ll be _making_ trouble. Go to bed. Wake me up if you need absolutely anything. I’m a very deep sleeper, so let me know if I snore. I know Chloe snores far louder than I ever could fathom so it always drowned me out.”

Adrien raised his eyebrows, and Marinette said nothing. Of course he doesn’t know who Chloe is. She makes her way to the washroom to brush her teeth, gestures for Adrien to use the washroom and hears the shower start to go. Good. He’ll be nice and clean. Marinette sets two towels on the shoe bench which is right next to the door, promptly changes into her pyjamas, and dozes off on the couch.

Today was a very long day, and Marinette needed sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you weren't aware, the manga title "Tramps Like Us" in Japanese translates to "You're My Pet". ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	3. Repeat...?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her lunch ends and Marinette forgets to taste anything. When she gets back to work, she’s using her notebook to write down everything she needs to remember, since there isn’t enough room in her brain for anything but walls and Chloe. Everything goes on autopilot. The moment she walks out the door, Marinette blanks out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of food description here. I was hungry while writing the cooking scenes.
> 
> Thank you kindly to everyone who commented! A lot of people had things to say and it just warms my heart.

Marinette wakes up this morning with some drool on her face and frumpy pyjamas. She wakes up with a start and looks blearily around her apartment, confused, since she’s on her couch instead of her soft bed. She sees a lump in the blankets that isn’t her.

Ah. That’s right, that lump consists of a boy she found in the tangle of wetcardboard **a** nd what felt like a mid-life crisis.

Marinette gets up from the couch and neatly folds away the blankets. She does so as quietly as possible, cautious of the possibility that the boy in those sheets is a light sleeper. She stretches out her back, softly sighing as she revels in the pleasure of her muscles realigning. After a few sacred moments of tending to her aching body, Marinette pads over to the kitchen to fix herself some breakfast. The clock reads seven-fourteen, which allows adequate time to get ready for work.

Sparse sun rays peek through the windows, and Marinette wishes she were back in her neighbourhood where she could open up the window and hear the birds chirping. Alas, this was closer to downtown Paris, and the only music that would greet her is the roar of car tires on the pavement outside her Juliette balcony. Today is Friday, which is usually good news after a long week, but Marinette knows that since her deadlines are on Tuesday, she’ll have to come in on Saturday for some overtime. She damns the fashion industry to its very core, livid about her precious vacation days taken away from her.

Putting a pot on top of the stove, Marinette pours in some delicious full fat milk, the fire of the stove warming the dairy with its gentle flames. She gets out some chocolate and cocoa, breaks the chocolate into pieces and measures out a tablespoon of cocoa into a bowl. She throws in some whole spices into her spice grinder and presses a button to let the machine know it may begin its crunching. As cinnamon and nutmeg grind into a soft powder, a delicious medley of spicy sweet wafts mingles with the air. Back on the stove, the milk begins to steam, and Marinette turns off the heat to mix in a tablespoon’s worth of heated milk into the bowl of cocoa. Mixing, she creates a paste of cocoa and dumps it into the pot along with the pieces of dark chocolate. She again clicks on a gentle flame, just so that the chocolate has an easier time melting. She stirs continuously, until the mixture thickens to the right amount. A healthy pinch of salt is finally added to accent the sweetness of all the sugar.

Marinette pours the hot chocolate into two big mugs, and divvies up her two day old baguette into two equal pieces. Gently sliding the curtains aside, she sits herself down with some extra sugar, hot chocolate, and bread right by her window. The sun is already out and bright, but she’s hiding behind other scrapers of the sky, not yet ready to bask in the delicious warmth the sun has to offer. Marinette dips her bread into her drink and watches people in suits and beautiful outfits flutter by, wrapped up in their own little morning and unaware of her existence.

She sips her mug. The hot chocolate is velvet smooth and just sweet enough to balance the bitterness of the cocoa. It’s absolutely delicious. Delectable bites of bread compliment the cocoa, and Marinette finds with delight the crumb is still fluffy whilst the crust retains its crackle. She savours this bread, thanking her stars that she isn’t back in New York, eating albeit perfectly fine, but certainly not as spectacular baguettes. Marinette shudders to remember the price of bread and the taste of soft, manufactured, essentially foreign and upsetting white bread that still plagues New York’s street meat and soggy falafel.

Finishing what’s left of her indulgent French breakfast, Marinette rinses her mug and plate, sets them aside, and makes her way to the washroom. The artificial light burns itself into her retinas, and Marinette grimaces while she takes a moment to let her eyes adjust. The mirror in front kindly lets her know that her change of sleep location didn’t go unnoticed, showcasing her bags and dehydrated complexion. Although her parents gifted her the genes of good skin, this is the best her body can do under the stress of sleeping over a small couch. Her saving grace, that last night she did a very poor job of cleaning off her makeup, and yet there’s not a blemish in sight. Marinette smirks at herself while she begins to brush her teeth, remembering the outrage Chloe had when she discovered this in their first year of being together. A bubble of petty feelings rises through Marinette’s body and disperses itself across her chest. Screw Chloe.

Marinette brushes her teeth and washes her face, and debates on whether or not she should change in company of this Adrien boy, since there really are only two rooms— the washroom and the open room. Although she doesn’t hold any intentions and she doesn’t think Adrien would do anything drastic, Marinette decides to change in the washroom with the door locked. She goes to cloak herself in simple black and white— a ruffled white blouse and tapered navy pants, with a vintage watch to accent her outfit. She tugs and fusses with the fabric of her shirt, moving sleeves, tucking and untucking, worrying about her stomach, not worrying about her stomach— and somehow she still isn’t quite satisfied. She twists her hair back and forth, placing it this way and that, incapable of ignoring her less than perfect features, her figure that didn’t really fill out past high school. She’s still skinny.

She glances at her watch— half past eight. She looks fine, all her paperwork is at the office, and she needs to get going. Marinette pulls on a coat different from yesterday’s— a lovely white caped coat that Chloe absolutely adored on her, and laces on her dark brown boots. Her battle armour is almost ready and she looks stunning. Marinette slips on the final piece of the outfit, a pair of sunglasses, and now she looks like a powerful fashion blogger that nobody would dare ask for directions, which is great. Marinette is certainly not in the mood to talk to anyone.

She quietly says goodbye to her new roommate and does a final check for her keys, wallet, and phone. Keys are in her front pant pocket, wallet is in her inner coat pocket, and she’s holding her phone. She lays out the boy’s share of breakfast before heading out. She locks the door and descends the stairs, the heels of her books clacking dully with every step she takes. The cape part of her coat flutters in the brisk autumn air, the sun celebrating one of its last days in Paris before the clouds and snow engulf the city.

It takes about a ten minute walk to get to the office, and fifteen if Marinette has the time to stroll. Thankfully, it’s eight forty. She walks behind power walking citoyens, and takes in the dirty metropolis view. Downtown has its own charms, amongst the pigeons and dirt, there’s a poised grace despite its filth.

Thankfully, Marinette clocks in five minutes before nine, greets her coworkers and sits down to respond to emails for her first hour. There are a few people who marvel at her outfit, but more barely have the time to even look look up at her because of the amount of work they have.

Marinette works as a legal advisor at a fashion label, le Paon Noir. Although that would mean she’s considered part of the law department, she’s more or less a contract proofreader, secretary, and coffee fetcher ever since starting this job half a year ago. She does her best to innocently avoid office politics, read through contracts thoroughly, and ask questions as little as she can. Her higher ups are stressed and obsessed about the growing terrorism (yes, terrorism) of the Animal Rights associations who are very much upset about the legitimacy of their ethical practices, and it takes all of her charm and wit to convince them there is nothing to worry about.

It helps she’s familiar with the issue. Once upon a time, Marinette too was passionately a vegetarian, incredibly conscious of her carbon footprint and eager to please the non-profit corporations’ whims on animal safety. However, months later she is now passion deficient and only legally invested in the interest of her work. What once was a fiery determination waned once she heard the sugar from her five favourite bakeries were bleached with animal bones, and that most EU animal processing occurred in the less wealthy areas and therefore were less motivated by ethics and more by profit. Her dwindling devotion was finally obliterated when her own mother outlined the extent of agricultural labour malpractices were near inexistent compared to North American animal processing, an industry that is far away from Marinette’s influence. The matriarch, in all her glory, posed the question if she valued human suffering over animals of lesser intelligence, or if she would rather turn a blind eye to that than to satisfy some perverse self righteousness.

Now, Marinette doesn’t have enough time to unpack all of that.

So these days, she justifies that tiny guilt of eating her pastries and cured meat by thoroughly exhausting her capability of being righteous in her work. Even though environmental law didn’t make much money, this girl is determined to participate in some of the many class-action lawsuits when she financially can. It was mass processing plants that were the source of the problem, and Marinette is incredibly motivated to pursue financially sound decisions to support the thankless tirade of animal shelters and restoration programs, rather than sentimental rights.

Where was she? Oh, right. Emailing her correspondents the latest edit of both their public statement both in French and English, because these nonprofit circles jerks are more often than not American, the land of what’s barely English literacy and nothing else.

Jean-Pierre, the Assistant Director of Human Resources taps Marinette’s shoulder, wrenching Marinette out of her productive storm of emails.

“Oh! I might as well have shocked you with a taser with how you jumped!” Jean-Pierre laughs. Marinette tries to match his smile, peeved out of her mind.

“Good morning, Jean-Pierre. What is it that you need?” Marinette asks with as much politeness she can muster into her words, eager to avoid small talk with Jean-Pierre to preserve what little good mood she has left from thinking about animal rights. He’s a good natured American man who is both her direct supervisor and yet he comes off as incredibly dim in terms of social manners. She chalks up their friction to cultural differences— and the fact that he asked for Marinette to come in on Saturday. A flame of rage quips at the base of her mind, and Marinette quietly tries to quash it. She truly has no idea why is she so angry.

“How was your morning, Marinette?” Marinette tries not to frown. What is his deal? Why didn’t he answer her question?

“Good, sir. Did you mean to tell me something?”

“Oh, uh. Our meeting’s postponed to after lunch. How does two o’clock sound?” Marinette outwardly frowns at this.

“I don’t think enough people will be back, sir. Perhaps two-thirty would be more ideal,” she says plainly. That’s right, Americans are far more enthusiastic about being on time. “The French truly cherish their breaks,” she offers, hoping to show her coworkers in a positive light. From the look of her boss’ face, she doesn’t think it does much help.

“I see. Well, so long as everyone is willing to participate, I’m more than happy to push it to 2:30pm. Thank you for your input, Marinette.” Jean-Pierre pats Marinette on her shoulder and walks away. Marinette lets out a sigh of relief, and sends everyone an email letting them know about the meeting time being at two in order to preserve Jean-Pierre’s good opinion of them. There are varying replies, from properly written emails to simply being sent a thumbs up, which is what Marinette feels is the email equivalent of being left on read.

Lunch shortly follows after a proof read on the updated independent contract policy and reports on the most recent workers within the company. Marinette angrily heads over to the nearby bistro, fuming at the sheer indignation of one of the supervisors, and vaguely suspects it’s because of her gender. Right before lunch, she wrote a vile email and saved it in drafts in hopes of regaining some sanity, intentionally going to a bistro instead of the cafeteria to try and quell her anger.

She orders a pot of black tea, vegetable paella, and some choice macarons for a full three course meal. Who cares that the order is far more than what she usually pays? Her budget can cover this indulgence today. Marinette opens the notebook she took with her and furiously scribbles some ranting nonsense to try and calm herself down. Her mind floats to her work, and how poorly she feels, and tries to count her blessings. She did all the right things for herself: woke up at a good time, had an indulgent breakfast, wore something nice to work. She turns to her list of self care she wrote at the beginning of her notebook, and realization dawns upon her.

The list has a twelve step checklist, ranging from using her divine hand cream to indulging in a gorgeous meal. The first five are checked off— woke up at a good time, good breakfast, time put aside for herself, timely arrivals, drinking a healthy amount of water. But the sixth…

She’s in a bad mood because Chloe dumped her. She’s finally come to this realization.

Marinette stares at the line in her notebook that reads, “Tell Chloe you love her.” It doesn’t help that the three following items say _plan a romantic date for Chloe, write a love letter to Chloe, imagine you’re giving a kiss to Chloe._ She doesn’t even notice the waiter setting down her tea and walking away. Tears well up in her eyes, and she forces herself put away her notebook, takes her phone out, and goes on L’Onstagram to immediately block out her feelings. She patiently tells herself she can watch sad movies and all the sweets she can after Saturday, but for now, she needs to be in a state of productivity within the next hour.

She remembers to block notifications from Chloe’s account before absentmindedly scrolling and liking posts.

Her lunch ends and Marinette forgets to taste anything. When she gets back to work, she’s using her notebook to write down everything she needs to remember, since there isn’t enough room in her brain for anything but walls and Chloe. Everything goes on autopilot. The moment she walks out the door, Marinette blanks out.

——

“Welcome home!”

Marinette blinks in surprise. After a long, bland day of work, she opens the door to a boy waiting in her entryway. He’s stretched out, lying on his stomach, feet kicking up in the air. What was his name again… Adrien? His handsome face draws her in for a moment, seeing it with a happy expression and a soft smile on his lips. He has the air of a pleased cat, as if he’s now placated now that he’s seen his master today. Marinette closes the door and locks it, turning around to see that he has not moved from his position. He somehow has this air of drawing her in, and Marinette briefly wonders if he’s doing it on purpose.

“… I thought you wouldn’t be home until the evening,” she says, mildly alarmed. She takes off her shoes and puts up her coat while he simply lies there, watching her. It feels a little strange, but not in a bad way.

“I don’t have a key, so I can’t exit and enter as I please.” That’s right, she forgot to get a spare before she got back. Marinette makes a mental note to do so when she has some free time, and Adrien changes the subject. “This morning’s breakfast was delicious, thank you for that. Would you please cook some more? I’m really hungry.”

A pause. A lot of things simply halt while she processes this boy’s request.

“Are you a stray cat begging for scraps or something? Goodness,” she rolls her eyes and heads over to the kitchen, trying to think of something that she will want to eat. Marinette supposes bolognese pasta will do, since she’s cooking for two now. She rolls up her sleeves and puts on an apron, beginning her prep. She fills a pot with water and clicks the flame into maximum heat. While she’s chopping some mirepoix, she suddenly feels something paw at her legs and looks down.

“Meow!” The boy exclaims with a grin. “Meooooooow!” He repeats, batting at the string of the apron. He rubs his cheek against her leg, and sits next to her as he makes eye contact. He cocks his head with a beautiful, adorable, heart melting smile. Marinette is speechless for a moment, a little stunned at how pretty he is. It doesn’t help that she has a huge thing for blondes.

“… Are you trying to hurry me up?” she asks hesitantly.

The boy squishes his face in an attempt to resemble a slow blink. It’s very cute. He rolls over on his back and shows off his stomach. Marinette’s hands are full with her continued chopping, so she experimentally gives him a pet on the stomach with her foot. This is very strange.

Adrien does his best to attempt a purr, but it comes out more like he’s cooing while rolling his r’s. The purrs continue, with little paw bats at the kitchen towel hanging off the oven as Marinette continues to cook. This is the strangest thing that’s happened to her, but it’s nice somehow.

The water soon comes to a roaring boil, and Marinette throws in some salt and dry spaghetti. She clicks another flame into life, this time heating a saucepan. The motions of making a meatless bolognese sauce is mindless at this point. Oil, garlic and onions, cooked until aromatic. Diced celery, carrots, and tomatoes and cook for five minutes on high with the stove fan on (she’s living in a studio apartment, after all), and deglaze the mix with cheap wine to deepen the flavour since there isn’t any meat. Scrape the bottom of the pan with a spatula to hydrate the caramelized sugars. Canned tomatoes, and a bit of orange juice for the sweetness to counteract the canned taste. Simmer for five minutes uncovered, and scoop in some pasta water before draining the pasta. Two scoops into the drained pasta to avoid clumping, and then taste the sauce. It’s in need of some more salt and depth, so Marinette adds about half a teaspoon of soy sauce and finely ground pepper. Dried basil and parsley are added, and she plates the spaghetti. Nothing fancy, though.

She suddenly locks eyes with Adrien, who looks like he’s about to dig in. She shakes her head and smiles, something she hasn’t done all day, and marvels at the fact that even though she doesn’t have any side dishes, he’s so eager to feast. Chloe was always a little picky with her food, so having someone so enthusiastic to eat somehow mends her heart just a bit.

“Set the table,” she says, and the boy does just so in no time flat. She takes out two glasses and fills them with the same red wine she used in the sauce, and takes out a microplane with some aged cheddar because she’s a little embarrassed about such a homey meal. She’d never make something like this for Chloe, it’s filled with carbs and heavy, and she should be more cautious about a model eating what she’s made. Adrien sits at the table eagerly, and Marinette puts a hand up as if she wants him to wait, clearly uncomfortable. Adrien stills.

“Sorry, I should make salad,” she says as she gets up and chops up some cherry tomatoes, mushrooms, and cucumbers to mix with some spinach. She drizzles balsamic vinegar and olive oil on top, and sets the bowl on the table. That’s better, but she’s nervous for some reason.

“Marinette? May I eat now?”

“Oh— god, yes, of course— I mean go ahead—“

Another brilliant smile dazzles Marinette and she’s suddenly watching the boy in front of her wolfs down the salad and pasta she threw together, thinking that he should slow down if he’s that ravenous. From her experience of late nights and stress induced abstinence of food, she’s knows the boy’s stomach will be hurting in a few moments.

“You sure do eat a lot for someone so scrawny,” Marinette idly comments. It isn't a surprise, though. She’s seen plenty of people pack away kilograms of food in one sitting.

The boy looks up with his sparkling green eyes, and for a moment, she’s captivated in them. She’s partly annoyed with how taken she is with him, but she supposes this is how most new pet owners feel when they first get their cat home. The boy grins widely, the pearls of his teeth clashing dramatically with the green morsels of salad. “I’d forgotten what a home cooked meal tasted like,” he says with wonder.

Marinette warily smiles back as the boy reverts his focus to his plate. As she watches him chew, the girl can’t help but ponder the circumstances he was put through before she picked him up. It was incredible enough that he didn’t want her to call the ambulance, let alone let a complete and utter stranger take him home.

Marinette squints at him. What if she had been someone with ill intentions? Someone who was looking to take his organs, or bring him into human trafficking? By then he’d be gagged and tied up while she’d be on the phone booking tickets to a foreign country where they were certain he wouldn’t speak the language! Oh gods, the horrors that would become of this boy had she, Marinette, not heard the quiet moans from a cardboard box in the alley where she doesn’t usually walk down but did because she needed to get home as possible?! If the rain was not as awful as it was he would have—

“Please, miss. Calm down,” he says in a soothing tone. “Breathe.”

She follows exactly that. Had she been talking out loud?

“Yes,” he says simply, a strange look on his face. As if he were entertained with what he was seeing. He acts with such mystery and poise, and such mystery confuses Marinette. It’s aggravating with how drawn in she is with him.

“Do you have any other place to stay after this?” she asks gently, careful to avoid any harshness come tumbling out of her mouth.

“No, I usually couch surf, but the last guy who housed me wanted to do some weird things to me so I left.”

“I see.”

“Yeah.”

The boy looks at her again, as if he’s sizing her up. His lips twitch but holds his gaze. Marinette feels indignant all of a sudden.

“I need you to sleep on the couch tonight. I’ll bring some extra blankets,” she says as she stands to clear the plates. “I have work early in the morning.”

The boy looks up at her as if she’s blessed him with the power to walk again for some reason. Marinette feels a little strange but pointedly ignores it. She turns with her collected dishes and heads to the sink to wash them, carefully thinking about where she holds her sensitive documentation, her money, and most importantly, if she should purchase some self defence items.

Soon after she’s left the dishes to air dry, Marinette finds the blond boy curled up like a little ball on the couch, sound asleep. She recalls the late autumn chill and picks up two warm blankets, tucking the boy in. Strangely enough, she thinks he’s endearing in some sort of way. Marinette thinks she’s doing the right thing, taking home someone who’s in need of a hot meal and a roof over her head. And while most people would either leave or drop them off at a shelter, Marinette quietly craved some company. Yes, it is as if she were taking care of a platonic acquaintance, or a distant family relative. Perhaps she can think of him as a little cat, cold from the outside and needs a place to stay.

She pauses for a few moments to collect her thoughts. The logical thing to do would be to find him a permanent residence. Her heart throbs at the thought. Marinette laughs at herself. What was she thinking? A day after breaking up and she already craves another human being’s attention. Marinette shakes her head and sighs to herself. She needs to sleep. Clearly the break up was affecting her more than she was willing to admit.

Marinette walks over to her bed and falls straight asleep, painfully dreaming of Chloe and her silky, silky hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been near a month! This thing wrote itself out almost a week after the last chapter was posted, but for some strange reason it never felt right? Like, I'm still not very happy with how this flows, and there's been a whole lot of tinkering and puttering around it, but I figured if editing was taking triple the time it took to write, I should probably just post it.
> 
> As always, comments are always deeply appreciated!


	4. Needs (Read: Memes)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette is upset. There's a lot of things happening and there hasn't been enough time to process it. Cue _un doux petit chou_ to save the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! It's been more than half a year. I stopped posting because all of my chapters were angst angst angst... and I was getting angsty in my head. So I stopped.
> 
> But now I'm back! I have a lot going on in real life, so I expect this will likely be a good way to destress-- expect another update in the near future, I guess?
> 
> Also! **Trigger Warning: Panic Attacks**
> 
> This whole first part is her having a panic attack. It was written out of pure self-expression. Please search for  
> "There’s that audible click of the lock, and the door opens to reveal Adrien."  
> Or scroll down. I’ve emboldened and underlined the line. The context is that Marinette's had a very unfulfilling cry. The rest of the chapter is the comfort part of hurt/comfort.

Monsieur Jean Pierre is a good man, Marinette chants to herself. All of my higher-ups are good people. My team is made of nothing but good people. Marinette deliberately repeats these three sentences into what feels like oblivion.

Marinette actively blocks her feelings about being called to work at 8 am just to file a couple of contracts and reread the editorial. She woke up today far too early to just sit around and file through only nine pages of a contract. Everybody else came in later for work, which was incredibly unfair thank you very much. Why out of all people, was she the one supposed to come in at 8AM?! Eight o'clock in the damn morning.

Now, she understands why it happened. Bozo idiot Leo (love you, bud!) was supposed to finish up the draft two weeks ago but was a whole week late, so everybody was just speed reading the life out of this Minuscule Offers Contract. Which, on its own part, was fine. It wasn't like the seasonal contract was due any time soon.

What irked her the most was the stressed insisting from the higher-ups that this was a HUGE project that needed to be done before men's fashion week. A contract for December. It needed to be done by May.

So, of course, since she's being paid a healthy salary, of course Marinette does it. She knows she's just stressed because of what happened last week-- you know, the whole getting dumped by the love of her life, finding a human in a cardboard box, being friendless for the next three weeks so she's going to be alone, by herself.

A tiny voice in the back of Marinette's head suspects she may be overreacting, but honestly? Marinette tells that voice to stuff it.

Yet, she can't help but think she's overreacting. Sure, she had to work an early day on the weekend, but now that Fashion Week is starting, it's more on the other half of Le Paon Noir to be stressed. She's done with all the legal things, now all she has to do is sit back and see pictures of solemn men wear either androgynous or straight-up wacky outfits on the runway.

Lost in her thoughts of fury (and feeble attempts at self-soothing), Marinette finds herself in front of her apartment complex, out of breath and with a cold cup of coffee. She blinks.

Something's happening. Some part of her is releasing tension that was built up in her.

Somehow, Marinette knows she's going to drop her coffee if she doesn't do something right now, so she screws her lid back on and drops the sealed cup into her purse.

It's as if she's having an out-of-body experience. She's lost feeling in her body and is now vaguely moving towards her unit.

Marinette half-consciously gets her keys and opens the apartment door. She sees Adrien looking at her from the couch, breathless. His cheeks are pink and his eyes are lit up, lips uttering a “Welcome home, Marinette,” before giving the kindest smile to ever grace her eyes. Marinette quickly forgets it ever happened.

He’s eager to talk to her, eager to ask how work went.

It’s a pity she doesn’t see it.

Marinette can’t process anything. She's suddenly overstimulated, yet can't feel anything. There’s already too much going on in her head to feel anything, let alone interact with another human being. Instead, amidst the tornado of bottled emotions, she smiles politely. Adrien’s smile disappears.

“I’m sorry, my dear. I need you to leave just for a bit,” Marinette says in an airy, high pitched voice. She's still smiling though her tears threaten to fall. She holds something out.

Adrien's head lowers to look at what is in Marinette’s outstretched hand. She's holding a steel key.

“I have your spare key. Will you return in a few hours? I need a bit of time for myself.” Marinette shuffles for her wallet and plucks out a blue, twenty euro note. She clutches both the key and note and moves to put it in Adrien’s hands. She can feel his eyes boring into hers, like he can see the whirlwind inside her plain as day— like he can see her rotting flesh melting around her equally rotten heart.

Marinette doesn't like that.

Adrien gingerly takes her offerings, tiptoeing around a very vulnerable Marinette. He holds her hands and gives a kind squeeze. The gesture is foreign to her.

His hands are warm and soft, comforting Marinette’s cold fingers chilled by the brisk winter air. It's as if Adrien is gently knocking on walls Marinette's built up and politely asks if she can let him in. Marinette shudders-- a definite no.

Adrien quietly pulls away and puts on his coat and shoes.

“I understand, Marinette,” he says before he opens the door to leave. The door closes behind the boy, and Marinette desperately listens to his fading footsteps as she shudders again, patiently waiting for the sounds of the only other person to disappear and finally, finally leave her in her misery. In her dizzying daze, she locks the door with an audible click. At last, the only noises to keep her company is the quiet rumble of the outside street. Marinette leans against the door as her legs give out, her body sliding itself down until it seats in front of the door.

Tears refuse to come. Marinette blinks rapidly in an attempt to compel them to come. She lets out a sob. After all, this was her time to be upset. It was now or never, truly. She furrows her eyebrows as she digs up everything that she’s upset about, everything that has bothered her for the past week. Her sudden breakup, the guilt of letting go the one person who's she ever opened her heart to, the insidious rage-anxiety that stormed her this morning— Where was it? Where was the switch that will make her cry?

Marinette thinks back to what Chloe said at dinner, but she can’t recall anything in particular, as if Marinette has blocked out her ex’s words so well that she genuinely forgot.

Marinette, alone in her small apartment, curls up into a little ball and shudders, trying to force out her emotions. She’s sad, she reminds herself, she’s sad.

She dazes. She spaces out. Nothing comes. Perhaps there wasn’t anything to cry about. No, there is. Marinette can feel it. She just doesn’t know what to cry about.

A quiet knock on the door jolts Marinette out of her stupor. Frazzled, she skirts away from the door, dreading having to talk to someone, as if someone will see her.

She pleads for them to leave.

 **There’s that audible click of the lock, and the door opens to reveal Adrien.** He’s as meek as a rabbit peeking around the door, his face painted in concern as he makes eye contact. Marinette is bewildered.

“I-I thought I said you—“

“Yeah, I know. My bad. I bought some nice chocolate ice cream, and I forgot that I don’t have a freezer. Will you eat some with me?”

Marinette blinks.

“Ice cream?” she croaks.

“Yeah,” Adrien toes off his shoes and walks past Marinette sitting on the floor, and heads to the dining table to put down his paper bag. He fusses around in the kitchen, and Marinette sits there, dumbfounded, unable to move.

Adrien puts his two bowls of ice cream onto the coffee table, and stands in front of Marinette, hands outstretched as if saying, “Come here.”

Marinette lets him pull her up. She feels like Adrien’s rescuing her from drowning into the deep. She didn’t realize how much she missed another human’s touch. She hasn’t been touched all week.

Adrien begins to lead, and Marinette lets him take her to the couch. “Where’s your laptop?” he asks, wrapping her up in blankets, not unlike when Marinette brought him home from the cold rainy days ago. She is vaguely aware of how comforting and heavy the blankets are. Adrien wraps again and again until the medley of Marinette and blankets resemble a lopsided, bewildered ball.

“Uh.” Marinette’s voice is rougher than usual. She tries to clear her throat, but to no avail. She tries again but has a similar result. Defeated, she points to her hanging purse.

Adrien takes the laptop, out of the purse, out of the sleeve, and places it out in front of her, where she types in her password, a little confused, unclear of what he wants to do. Adrien quickly opens a browser and directs it to a familiar website.

YouTube videos. Adrien turns on French subtitles when he can, but Marinette can understand just fine.

These videos are vastly different from the videos Marinette’s used to watching. She watches cooking videos, LGBT*Q+ content, and the occasional fashion vlog. In contrast, Adrien looks up a couple of podcasts made by YouTube vloggers. He clicks on one. The title mentions Area 51, a place Marinette hasn’t heard of in a while.

A few videos later, it is here that Marinette notices Adrien's laughing at different times than herself, and she's clued in that there are some jokes she doesn't quite understand.

"Why have the past three videos been fixated on Area 51? It’s so dumb.“ Adrien snorts.

"You mean you haven't been checking Reddit? I don’t know about you, but I for one would be willing to die for even a mere glimpse of a glorious, rotund, alien rumpus. "

“Uh… huh. I heard about Area 51 being the "Aliens-only" area when I was back in New York... and that’s as far as my knowledge goes. Why are there people trying to run like in an anime?"

"Not just any anime, Marinette. We’re running like NARUTO. He's going to be the greatest Hokage. Believe it, you know!”

“Chèr, anime ain’t even real."

"I am inclined to tell you that anime is both not real and a mistake. I tell you this on behalf of all weebs, dearest, darlingest, Marinette. (M: Weebs??) Holy shit, it's like you've never been online! You’re only five years older than me— What does this mean? What does this ALL MEAN?!“

"I was never really into the internet. Didn’t tickle my funny bone."

Silence. This was a brand new discovery that Adrien didn’t see coming. You see, Adrien was so sure that Chloé was the only person born in the 90s who could ever stick her nose up at the illustrious memery that is the internet. And yet living, breathing proof sat right in front of him that proved otherwise. Ridiculous. Preposterous. Ludicrous!

"I'm living with a boomer." Adrien dramatically gasps at his revelation. It all came to him so fast— he wasn’t ready for it: the car, the professionalism, the functioning in the shambles that is French society... Of course she has a stable income and knows how to run a household— she doesn’t even know about the “It’s Wednesday, my dudes” ritual!

"What?? I don't know what that means, but I feel like I should be offended."

"You're an official baby boomer."

"Aren't I considered a millennial? If you check any of my government documentation, I was born in ’94.“

"You're a twenty-five-year-old boomer. Pray tell," Adrien pulls up a post in desperation. He doesn't want to believe it, but he must know. The truth will hurt, but to continue his life in ignorance will only bring him greater suffering.

The post reads: Exercise? Don't you mean extra fries?

"What do you think of this?"

After what feels like an excruciating amount of time, Marinette giggles.

Adrien stands up in outrage. He’s been betrayed! Mislead! Deceived, even!

"It's official, Marinette. You're Angela, pissed that you can't switch your Peach Bellinis for Winter Candy Apples."

"You've completely lost me, Adrien."

"Don't you see, Marinette?" Adrien paces the small apartment in concern. "You… you ain't the ginchiest girl on the block no more, babydoll."

"Babydoll?" Marinette laughs.

"Oh god, you've never even seen Spiderman and Elsa and it really SHOWS."

Marinette laughs even harder. That wasn’t even a sentence. Adrien crosses the tiny apartment floor and levels his gaze with hers. If someone walked in on this scene, it would look like and have the energy of a dad trying really hard to connect with his kid in a ball of blankets. 

”Marinette, aren't you tired of being nice and normal? Don't you sometimes just want to go apeshit? Ever tried to McFrickin lose it?"

Marinette is crying of laughter.

“WHAT ARE WE EVEN TALKING ABOUT ANYMORE."

Adrien laughs wholeheartedly, the act of a stressed memer melting away. “Sorry, sorry! I couldn’t help myself! I’ve been around a lot of generation Z models lately and all we do is talk like this.”

“Is that what all of that was? ‘Generation Z’?”

“Some of us speak in a way that’s indecipherable to anyone who doesn’t know what we’re referencing,” Adrien explains.

“God, is this how out of touch I am? This feels like a whole new world.”

“Don’t you dare close your eyes!”

“Well, I’m glad that the Little Mermaid is still relevant.”

Adrien’s eyes light up with intensity. “Ooh, lady, you don’t even know.”

Marinette raises her eyebrows.

“Anyway, if you want to understand why this stuff is absolutely hilarious, you have got to turn off your logical brain and let some brain cells die, my dear. This generation is so exposed to ads, content, and unhealthy addictions that our humour is cryptic."

“All right, I’m in. Get me back in touch with the cool kids.”

…

After the third vine compilation and Adrien’s introduction into TikTok, Marinette turns her body to him, sitting comfortably away and giving her as much space as possible on the three-person couch.

“Adrien?” she speaks.

“Yeah?” His eyes are staring intently at the screen, doing his best to translate the amount of English slang on Twitter.

“Why’d you come back?”

Adrien looks up and back to his phone.

“What do you mean?”

“Like, when I shooed you away— you came back. You cheered me up. Brightened up my mood and changed my whole day.”

Adrien puts down his phone and he gives the ceiling a thoughtful gaze.

“I wanted to help, but I didn’t know how,” he started, his eyes turned into the ceiling, processing words with emotions with actions to form into words.

“I didn’t want to cross a boundary, but it didn’t feel right to leave you alone,” he glances at Marinette and gives a small smile. Her heart absolutely melts. “You helped me by welcoming me into your space, and I really admire you, so.” He shrugs, crossing his legs and takes a big deep breath.

“I wanted you to have something better than being alone. I know what that’s like.” His voice wavers. “It sucks when you’re alone, but it sucks even more if people you don’t trust are around,” Adrien says as he quickly wipes a tear away as if he’s reliving a similar experience. He clears his throat and continues. “I, um, I don’t offer much, but I can offer you my compassion. I want this to be an open-hearted invitation to trust me. If you’re willing, of course.”

Marinette blinks as she begins to tear up. She isn’t upset or angry, for what has felt like a lifetime. It feels like some sort of invisible weight has been lifted off her shoulders. “I-If you’ll have me,” she whispers, carefully maneuvering herself so that she doesn’t burst into tears.

Adrien smiles brilliantly, and somehow Marinette feels saved. He fixes the blanket she has around her and puts one hand on her shoulder. He then slides it down to her elbow, looking up at her once more.

“Absolutely.”

A big wave of emotion comes surging through Marinette, and she can’t help but sob. Everything from this week comes pouring out. “My girlfriend of three years broke up with me. It came out of nowhere,” Marinette hiccups. Adrien scoots a little closer.

“I loved her. I still love her! I don’t know what the hell happened. She said something like ‘Oh Marinette, I never feel like I’m enough for you,’ which to what I say HEY CHLOÉ?? CHEERS BABE I’LL DRINK TO THAT.”

Adrien chuckles and pats her on the back to continue. Marinette leans on Adrien’s shoulder because the blanket isn’t enough to protect her tiny maiden heart.

“She’s beautiful, driven, and I did my absolute damndest to match her because I thought she was racing ahead of me— oh my goodness, do you know what else she said?? ‘ _Oh Marinette, I’m so tired of trying to catch up to you_ ,’ as if she isn’t going off day in day out about her damn business Ph.D.! She most definitely gets a superiority high every time she brings it up. Why in the world would she even want to do a Ph.D.? Isn’t a Masters in business enough? Expensive enough? It isn’t like she’s a die-hard of the business sciences!

“By the way, business sciences is such a stupid word. How hard is it to be like, oh _yes_ , I will _indeed_ transfer the updated _revenue_ and _dividends_ over to the accounting apartment?? CALL IT A DAY! WHO NEEDS SCIENCE?!

“Never wanted to move in with me. Aren’t lesbians all about that U-Haul life? I could have upgraded into something more suitable than this dingy studio if she wanted to pitch in. But nooo, Miss Bourgeois, the highest-ranking of all bourgeoisie can’t rent. Can’t be a damn commoner since she was freed from crippling student debt by her father.

“No, Mlle Chloé Bourgeois prefers down payments and capitalizing on real estate rather than spend a dime on wasted expenses…” Marinette sighs.

“I loved her, I treasured her, and I was probably the best girlfriend ever. To think I was even planning on proposing,” Marinette’s voice wavers. “I hope the next time she even looks at a girl she thinks how I treated her so well.”

Adrien puts his hand on her head, stroking her hair.

“I’m sure she will, especially if you gave her even half the amount of care you’ve given me.”

Marinette sniffs and relaxes into Adrien’s touch.

“I sure hope so,” she mutters.

Adrien moves to continue the video, but Marinette stops him. Not because she doesn’t like learning about memes, but because she feels like she can trust Adrien. Her heart jumps when his brilliant green eyes look straight at her. They’re a beautiful colour, even when the light isn’t hitting them.

“I… I have this super melodramatic sappy series that I watch when I’m sad,” she begins.

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s really over the top,” she flusters.

“Yeah.”

“It’s full of very romantic monologues and characters that might make you cringe,” she presses.

“Marinette,” Adrien says, trying to stifle his laughter.

“Yeah?” It’s the smallest voice he’s ever heard out of her.

“I’d be happy to watch something melodramatic and sappy with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comment of what you think! I absolutely thrive on comments and nothing else...


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